Out of Our Minds
by tomamazon
Summary: It saw them both realising that they knew each other all along. HP/DM, follows the books to a certain point.


Draco moaned in his sleep, his fingers curling around the oversized green t-shirt he had been given to sleep in. A thin layer of sweat covered his pale face and it beaded into drops that slid down his cheekbones, mingling with the tears that dribbled from his eyes. Another nightmare clawed at him, destroying him from the inside out, and he was helpless.

His mouth twitched. It curled into a horrified frown as another groan slipped from his lips. In his dreams he ran. He ran until his thighs felt like lead. He ran until there was no more ground for him to cover. His chest heaved, up and down up and down, painful breaths dragged through his cracked lips into abused lungs that cried out in agony. He had nowhere left to run and Draco could feel darkness pressing on his shoulders like a dead weight. It pushed him onto the filthy ground, grinding his face into the dirt so all he could taste was earth and all he could feel was hatred. "In the dirt where you belong, Malfoy…" a horrifying voice whispered to him through the darkness and he woke with a start. His fingers, still curled around the hem of his t-shirt that swamped his slender frame, trembled.

He balled his fists and dug them into tired eyes that screamed at him. This was the third night this week that nightmares had plagued Draco. A large part of him went to bed expecting them now. He dragged himself from the bed and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. He'd been here before as a young boy but it held a familiarity for him now that instantly quelled the storm inside him. He wrapped long fingers around the Dreamless Sleep that was kept above the bread bin and hesitated slightly. Dreamless Sleep was a slippery slope, he knew that. One measure now, two measures tomorrow, three the night after that. "Just for tonight," he whispered to himself, promising the empty kitchen.

Grimmauld Place felt nothing but safe for Draco. When Potter had found him, unconscious and face down in the dirty, he had hauled him around his shoulder and brought him back here. Potter had stayed at his bedside for days until he had regained consciousness, his own eyes circled with exhaustion and weariness.

"Welcome back." He had whispered quietly to Draco, automatically placing a hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature.

Even to this day, Draco hadn't understood why Potter had saved him. He joked that he had an insatiable need to save people but Draco hadn't taken the jokes lightly. He fought Potter, mouth curling into that old familiar sneer that hid how he really felt, spitting empty words of venom that bounced off Potter like rubber bullets, until in the end he gave up.  
They spent days at Grimmauld Place, curled up with books and playing games of chess, falling into a comfortable routine with each other. When Draco had fully recovered and no longer needed Potter to help him, Potter had asked him if he was leaving.

"Only if you want me to." He had replied with a voice that shook and a heart that was sinking to his feet. Grimmauld Place (and Harry Potter) had become home for Draco and he couldn't see how he could make it outside of these four walls without him. Draco wasn't stupid – he knew the Wizarding World wept after the war for those they had lost and showing his face would be rubbing salt in their wounds. Why was he, the son of a Death Eater and the Dark Lord's Chosen one, still alive when so many others had died at the hands of Voldemort? The thought of facing that alone terrified Draco to his very core.

"No, I'd like you to stay." Potter had replied softly and he had turned back to his book. So Draco stayed.

His friendship with Potter had evolved more than he could ever imagine. Faux hatred had poured from Draco when Potter rescued him because that was his automatic reaction after six years at Hogwarts. They were older now, taller now, wiser now, yet Draco still felt eleven years old when he first looked at Potter. Those words of hate dissolved into curt nods, those nods turning to shy smiles. Eventually, and he wasn't sure how, they had settled into one another, resting on each other as more than friends.

Draco felt entirely at ease with Potter. He knew absolutely everything about Draco – several sleepless nights cradling mugs of hot tea had ensured that. He had told Potter about his childhood, growing up as the heir to the Malfoy empire, the pressure from his Father to take the Mark as soon as he had turned sixteen. There was nothing he was too afraid to tell Potter and he knew that he felt the same about Draco. He knew every part of Potter's soul. Every last devastating part.

Soon enough, late night confessions about their deepest fears had turned into late night whispers against each other's skin. They both craved closeness and affection and found it in one another, hips pushing against hips, sweat sometimes mingling with tears that dripped without notice but were kissed away before they left a track. Their sex was sometimes desperate, bruising fingertips on hipbones that pleaded to help them forget their nightmares. Other times it was sweet and achingly slow with kisses that lasted for lifetimes, words of nothing but love and light whispered on flushed cheeks. Somehow, amidst all of the heartbreak that he and Potter felt, they had found the space to keep each other safe.

Even after his nightmare, Draco felt calm in the darkness of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. He swallowed a measure of Dreamless Sleep. The clock ticked seconds away and Draco could feel his eyes starting to feel heavy again. The kitchen held so many secrets for both Draco and Potter, so many muttered confessions about fear and hatred and love, that Draco felt at ease as if they wrapped around him like a security blanket. He dragged himself back to his room, his fingers still holding the hem of his t-shirt as if it calmed him. Closing his door quietly behind him so he didn't wake Potter, he sighed. Draco hoped the Dreamless Sleep would work quickly and his nightmares would keep away, if only for an hour or two.

He peeled back his duvet and gasped. Draco hadn't expected Potter to be sprawled across the bed, his hair fanned messily across the pillows. He was fast asleep, his chest moving so slowly and peacefully that it made Draco feel totally serene and ready for sleep. Potter was an enigma really, a devastating oxymoron of crippling sadness and blinding happiness. Draco's heart swelled at the sight of him and he had never felt more thankful in his life.

Tiredness began to cloud his vision and he crawled alongside Potter, collapsing against the other boy in pure exhaustion that gnawed at his bones. He felt an arm snake around his waist, pulling him closer to his chest, and he shifted so that his body was pressed fully against Potter. He felt warm and safe and Potter felt like home to Draco.

"You okay?" Potter mumbled, half asleep, but still lacing his voice with concern.

Draco smiled and nodded, his eyes already closing. "I am now." He whispered. He finally let go of the hem of his t-shirt to close his hand over Potter's, lacing their warm fingers together under the duvet. The feel of Potter's breath ghosting on his neck lulled him into sleep and the last thing he remembered was Potter's lips on his skin, a silent 'I love you' that spoke volumes to Draco.

...

Harry didn't remember what life was like before Draco had moved into Grimmauld Place with him. In fact, he could but he simply didn't want to remember for fear of losing his memories and losing his happiness. Finding Draco face down in the mud had been the best thing that could have happened to Harry. He was so close to losing himself before he had found Draco. He had gone into overdrive, fear gripping at his bones as he hitched him over his shoulder and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. It hadn't crossed his mind once that he should have left Draco exactly where he was. He had however been told enough times by Ron and Hermione who visited him regularly.

"Don't you remember how awful he was to you, Harry?" they had asked imploringly, watching in horror as he clutched helplessly at Draco's limp hand, willing him to wake him and show them he was okay.

Yes, of course he remembered. But, Harry conceded, he had hardly been a barrel of laughs for Draco either. He would never forget the look of total fear on his face when he had thrown an unknown curse at him, his chest bursting open and blood dribbling from the wounds. They had connected right there and then, eyes full of unspoken apologies, as they lay on the floor of the bathroom, Draco's blood mixing with the water that flooded from the taps.

The truth is that Draco had been the only constant in Harry's life. Whenever he felt as though his wold might close in around him, Draco had been there with an insult that made him feel. It was always Draco that made him feel that incomprehensible anger that ripped through his veins but Merlin, at least it was something other than hopelessness.  
Harry had thrown himself into nursing Draco back to health, staying at his bedside until he finally stirred. Something other than anger gripped at him as he studied Draco's face every day, searching for any sign of life. He dragged his green eyes over Draco's pale skin, taking note of each silvery line that marred the perfect complexion and he attempted to make up a story for each one.

Draco had been vile to Harry when he regained consciousness. He threw insults at Harry as if they were still eleven years old but they were missing the venom he used at Hogwarts. Harry had murmured to him that they were older now, they were in control now, and Draco had softened under his whispers into someone that Harry wanted to spend time with. For such a long time Draco refused to wear short sleeves around Harry and it had stumped the green eyed boy. For someone so intelligent he couldn't figure out what he might have to hide. One night, when they had worn themselves out with talking, Harry took Draco's wrist in his fingers and silently rolled his sleeve back. He gasped, tracing his fingers across the silvery faded lines of the Mark, and felt no anger towards Draco.

"It's horrible," Draco had cried, tears dropping onto his outstretched arm. "I wish I could burn it off of my skin."

Harry had pressed a kiss to the smooth and shiny skin, holding his lips on the Mark for seconds longer than Draco had anticipated. "It means nothing now, Draco."

They had slipped into a routine that felt comfortable and safe for them both. It saw them both realising that they knew each other all along. Harry and Draco bounced off one another with ease and somehow, against all of the odds, they just worked. They were opposite in almost every way, black hair contrasted with the palest of skin, but they fit together perfectly. Falling for Draco seemed nothing but natural for Harry. They spent hours talking, fingers twisting together as easily as their tongues. They traced love letters on each other's skin and sometimes, when tears turned angry and bitter, they knew each other well enough to kiss them away. Harry knew every inch of Draco's skin, memorising the little birthmark that sat in the crook of his back and the faded Mark on his arm that Harry made sure to kiss once a day.

Nightmares gripped at both of them. He lay awake, his own dreams keeping him from sleep as he heard Draco padding softly down the stairs. Harry wondered what Draco had been dreaming about this time – usually it was something about Malfoy Manor and the horrors that he'd seen in the dungeons but Harry didn't push him to talk about it. He knew himself that nightmares were hard enough to dream let alone relive in front of someone else, baring your entire soul to them by showing them your deepest fears. Harry waited with bated breath until he heard the kitchen door click behind Draco.

He crept across the landing and pushed his way into Draco's room. It was perfectly neat, the total opposite of Harry's own room, with his clothes folded perfectly on the ottoman at the bottom of his bed. He took a seat on the soft mattress and folded his leg beneath him. Harry's plan was to wait for Draco, to ask him if he was okay, but tiredness soon dragged at his eyelids and he fell back into the bed. He pushed his face into the pillows and the smell of expensive cologne, fresh linen and something that was entirely Draco lulled him into sleep.

Harry was nudged softly awake by Draco pressing himself to his body. He breathed steadily, falling in line with the rhythm of Draco's heartbeat, and weaved his arm around his waist, pulling him towards him ever closer and becoming one person. Harry sleepily thought that he would like to keep Draco this close forever.

"You okay?" he muttered, half asleep and breathing softly on the back of Draco's neck. He felt Draco move underneath him, burrowing himself into Harry's warmth. He felt Draco cling to his fingers under the duvet.

Draco nodded against the pillow and spoke softly, his whisper working its way into Harry's veins and exploding into something Harry couldn't explain. "I am now."

Harry knew that he couldn't hide away in Grimmauld Place forever. Voldemort was gone and he had a free life to live. Grimmauld Place was just so safe and separate from everybody else. Ron and Hermione visited regularly but the house belonged to Harry and Draco, their own safe haven that felt like it was built on their whispered secrets. The thought of living that life away from Draco frightened him so much that he could scream but it was moments like this one, right here in Draco's bed, where he noticed little things like the way Draco clung to his fingers as if he needed him too. Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the back of Draco's neck, telling him how much he loved him without needing to even open his mouth.


End file.
